


Curly Hair Don't Look Good Cut Short

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, highschool!au, implied homophobic parent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 09:28:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5086552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey Ry, it’s Michael. Um…just calling to see if you’d talked to your mom or not, ‘cause her birthday is coming up, and uh…I was just wondering how she took the news. Uh…that’s all really. Just checking in. Maybe you should come over. Anyway, I’ll talk to you soon. Alright, bye.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curly Hair Don't Look Good Cut Short

     “Hey Ry, it’s Michael. Um…just calling to see if you’d talked to your mom or not, ‘cause her birthday is coming up, and uh…I was just wondering how she took the news. Uh…that’s all really. Just checking in. Maybe you should come over. Anyway, I’ll talk to you soon. Alright, bye.”

 

     Ryan had driven over to Michael’s house as soon as he turned his phone back on. Hearing Michael so choked up, even over voicemail, was hard to deal with. His stupid Bronco had stalled just up the street from his house. The piece of shit had been broken for a while, and he’d just never had the time to fix it.

     He walked the rest of the way up the block, the cold late fall air finding a way into the collar of his letterman jacket and making him shiver. His hands were curled in his pockets, holding onto his phone like a lifeline.

     Michael was sitting out on the porch, a lit cigarette in his fingers. He looked so tired, like a man who’d just run a marathon. He didn’t acknowledge him when he sat down next to him on the porch steps. Ryan could hear something glass shatter in the house behind him.

     “I didn’t know you smoked.”

     Michael looked at him, the smoke glinting off his glasses. “I don’t.”

     They sat there for another moment, Ryan just looking down at his beleaguered boyfriend. He was outside in just a t-shirt and jeans, goosebumps running the length of his arms. One hand had bloodied knuckles, the edges starting to turn black and blue. His long, curly hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, several pieces falling out, as if someone had grabbed it.

     “So, I assume she didn’t take it well?”

     “Nope.” Michael took a drag of the cigarette in his hand, a long section of ash falling down onto the toe of his shoe and sizzling out.

     “That sucks.”

     “Yeah.”

     Another few awkward seconds of silence. Another shattering glass. Ryan honestly didn’t know what to say.

     “Hey, Ry?” The younger lad met his gaze with a sudden steeled resolve.

     “Yeah?”

     “You wanna help me with somethin’?”

     “Sure, anything you need.”

     “I want to cut my hair. The crazy bitch was yelling about it earlier, I want to get rid of it.” Michael put out the cigarette on the step, and it went out with a hiss on the damp timbers.

     “All of it?”

     “Most of it. She was yelling about how “curly hair doesn’t look good cut short”, but I don’t give a fuck what she thinks. I just care what you think.”

     “We can’t go inside, can we?” Ryan looked to the house again, and heard only muffled sobbing. Someone inside was crying, and crying hard.

     “Nah. You have scissors in your car?” Michael dismissed the noise with a sneer, looking up the road to where Ryan’s car was sitting on the shoulder.

     “Yeah, in the glovebox. Gotta warn you, I’m a thespian, not a hairdresser.” That stupid quip elicited a laugh from Michael, a genuine one that made his darkened face light up.

     “Doesn’t matter, I just want it gone.”

     Ryan held a hand out to help Michael up, and the two started off toward the car. Ryan wanted to say something, anything, but the words just wouldn’t form into real sentences. Michael finally broke the silence with a question that Ryan had been dreading since the first day they started going out, but now seemed like nothing.

     “Did you tell your mom yet?”

     “Yeah, I did. She took it pretty well, I guess. Her and my dad are supportive enough. I don’t really have a frame of reference for it, I guess.” He paused, then continued, more carefully this time. “She said you could come stay with us if you needed to. If your mom…well, if she was like this, I guess.”

     “Really?”

     “Yeah, sure. Anywhere is better than here, right?”

     “Got that right, Rye Bread.”

     They reached the car, and Ryan opened the door, letting Michael sit in the passenger seat of the dead car. He opened the glovebox, and took out the pair of metal sewing shears his grandmother had given him to keep in the car. “For protection from carjackers”, she had said.

     “How do you…how do you want me to do this?” He looked at Michael, who was replacing his ponytail. It reached to the middle of his shoulders, even as low as it was. Ryan could see a couple deep, red scratches just where the collar of his shirt started to cover his neck.

     “Just cut right over the tie. It’ll look like shit, but I don’t care. I want it gone.” Michael pushed up his glasses. It was something he did when he was nervous. Or, at least it was something Ryan had picked up on.

     “You got it. Just, don’t be pissed if I fuck it up.”

     “I get mad at a lot of things, Ryan. But I could never be mad at you.”

     Ryan put the scissors up to Michael’s hair, pausing a second to give the boy a chance to back out. He said nothing, just sat crosslegged on the bench seat, his back to the cold of the outside air.

     A cut, then another, then three. Then there was a long ponytail in one of his hands, and Michael was fluffing his hair. His long ringlet curls had loosened, curling around his face and making him look like a cherub. Ryan barely noticed the hair being taken from his hand. Michael pushed him aside, then tossed it down the street with a yelled swear that probably woke the neighborhood.

     “It looks good, Michael. Really.”

     “You think so?” He turned back toward the car, seemingly having spent all his rage.

     “Yeah, you look great.” Ryan shrugged the jacket from his shoulders, and wrapped it around the shivering lad. He left his arms on his shoulders, causing Michael to look up into his eyes.

      “Come home, Michael. Away from all this.”

      “I mean, that’s not so many ways that this could possibly end. Yeah, alright. Alright.” Michael smiles again and Ryan can feel his heart swell. And then drop, just slightly.

      “Uh…slight problem with that…”

     “Your car broke down, didn’t it?”

     “Yep.”

     “I told you it was an antique piece of shit.”

     “That you did.”

     “It’s okay, I can walk.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was listening to "Hooped Earrings" by The Front Bottoms on repeat, you know, as you do, and this is what happened.


End file.
